Between You and I
by Evie Warner
Summary: It's the only memory Hiro has of their mother, and the life lesson he takes to heart. Through Hiro's eyes, there's never a bad time to tell Tadashi, "I love you."


**Author's Note:** This was MEANT to be light-hearted and fluffy, but then it steered into head canon territory. Oops.

* * *

**Between You and I**

-0-

"_I love you_."

Slender fingers comb through kitten-soft hair, eliciting the appropriate purr. Hiro cracks open one eye, blinking blearily as he gazes up into similar brown eyes. Her face is a blur, details lost past the trait as a whole. Are her brown eyes the ones Tadashi inherited? If she untied her hair, would it fluff out in a bird's nest or spill silky strands over her shoulders?

But he faintly recalls the effect of her smile; he's fuzzy inside, so warm and content. Is this the sensation of a mother's love?

"Why d'you say that?" he murmurs tiredly, cocking his head to the side. "You say it a lot."

Her lips plant a kiss within the inky jungle of his hair, but that smile never falters. "Because it's true, Hiro," she says.

(Maemi, he's told her name is. That name means 'Truthful Child,' but that seems so silly. She isn't a child, she's his Mommy, his Kāsan. The name 'Maemi' feels so _wrong_ on his tongue.)

(But she _is_ truthful ... )

"Why shouldn't I say it?"

He lets his shoulders slump and curls up in her arms. As far as he can tell, there's no counteract to that.

"Believe me, Hiro," she whispers gently, tucked up in their own little world, "There's never a bad time to let someone know you love them."

It all becomes fuzzy after that. Did he fall asleep, or simply not remember? However hard Hiro closes his eyes and filters through the blurred screen of those first three years, nothing clears up.

After a while, he quits fishing for new memories and chooses to keep the one he has.

-0-

He's five years old when he first watches the news.

Until then, Tadashi's insistence has been an unofficial house rule, just another overprotective notion to shield Hiro from having the fear of reality implanted in his innocent mind. And while Hiro doesn't understand it, he begrudgingly follows it. Ever since their parents went to live in the sky, it's harder to cast light on Tadashi's smile, and Hiro dislikes granting another excuse as to keep it away.

But it's past his bedtime when Hiro wakes up, Tadashi dreaming soundly in the opposite bed and a TV buzzing downstairs. He creeps across their room and patters halfway down the stairs to poke his face against the railings as the flickering light envelops his aunt's dozing form.

At first, he's confused. Tadashi said the news would frighten him, but this show isn't scary. It's _boring_. The news people discuss politics and economic matters that make no sense in a five year old brain, and Hiro is ready to give up trying by the time the next report comes to light.

A woman cries through the screen, holding a portrait of a girl who's Tadashi's age and begging her to come home because they love her, and they're sorry she feels otherwise since they never told her enough ...

Hiro tilts his head, curious.

Confusion takes a new path, idle wondering as to _why_ this woman never said "I love you" enough. Aren't mother's supposed to know better?

Kāsan often said it, when she was still here. Hiro had pouted and muttered that's stupid because why repeat yourself so much? Only now he wonders if once is enough. Had he told Kāsan and Otousan he loved them before they left? Do they wonder if Hiro loves them as much as they loved him?

Undiluted horror washes over him.

With eyes wide and his tiny body trembling, Hiro wonders: did they, too, leave because they hadn't felt loved? Because Hiro didn't say it enough? Had he said it at all? When was the last time he'd explicitly said it aloud to anyone? To Aunt Cass, Mochi, or Tadashi? Would they, too ... ?

He makes a terrible racket as he scampers across the room, and Tadashi is awake before Hiro dives under his duvet and burrows against his chest.

"Hiro?" he hears his nii-san murmur, voice thick with sleep. "Wus wrong?"

He clings to Tadashi with strength he hadn't known to possess, face buried into his warm chest and breathing pattern erratic. Not Tadashi, anyone else but him. Their parents left because of Hiro and he can't make that mistake twice, not to Tadashi, because what point is there in a life without his nii-san?

Larger, stronger arms encircle him as a worried voice pleas, "Hiro? Talk to me, otōto. What's wrong? Hiro! Hiro, please—" and Hiro chokes into his brother's chest, sobbing out the words while he still has the chance.

"I-I, l-love ... you, nii-san—"

But Tadashi is quiet, so still and tense that Hiro frets he hadn't heard. So he turns his head, loosening his grip just enough to look up through the dark at Tadashi's face, and quietly murmurs, "Love you. S-so much."

His little heart breaks, because Tadashi is still so _quiet_ and maybe this means he doesn't care—

—but then Tadashi envelopes him in a hug that steals away Hiro's breath, and fear melts away into warmth, love, and an aura that's purely _Tadashi_. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the embrace as he feels, rather than hears his brother chuckle.

"Look at you, getting so worked up," Tadashi says, burying his face into an inky black mane. "What brought this on?"

Hiro bites his lip as ice creeps through his veins. His brother is incapable of hatred, but would he make an exception this time? Would he rightfully loathe his little brother for driving their parents away and inflicting so much pain, for tearing their family apart and leaving them beyond repair?

"Hiro?"

He closes his eyes and burrows into Tadashi's hug, where the open warmth banishes the unwelcome chill. It's not an answer he wants to know, not tonight or in any other. So instead he shrugs and mutters just loud enough for his brother to hear;

"Just wan'ed you to know."

-0-

He's awake before Tadashi for the first time ever.

His nii-san snores lightly, arms slack around Hiro reminiscent of their hug, wrapped up in a dreamland where the harsh bite of reality is unable to touch him. Hiro lies nestled comfortably in the mix, wide awake and perfectly content to just be near Tadashi, knowing that he knows how much he is loved. And Hiro promises he'll tell him every day, remind him that he's loved and wanted and no one wants him to leave, because it's all the truth and Tadashi deserves to know.

Aunt Cass bustles around in the kitchen, the aimless tune of her hum floating inexorably up the stairs to Hiro's ears. She's a lovely aunt, too, and just like Tadashi, she deserves to know. Now, not later. She should hear those words while Hiro has the chance.

He disassembles himself from the nest of Tadashi and bed sheets, slipping to the floor with a muffled _thump_. Aunt Cass looks up as he wanders into the kitchen with tear tracks underlining puffy pink eyes, and hair exploding in defiance to gravity.

"You okay, sweetie?" she inquires, abandoning half-prepared breakfast to kneel before her nephew. "Did you have a bad dream again? Come on, tell me all about it."

Hiro shakes his head, and her palm cups his cheek. She waits in quiet concern, which is overwritten as he falls forward in a drowsy resemblance of a hug. "Aunt Cass?" he whispers against her collarbone. "I love you."

Her expression changes in an instant. First it's shock, then warmth, which melts into something so purely loving that it twists Hiro's heart as Aunt Cass scoops him into an embrace.

He's never said it before, Hiro realizes now. His aunt is crying tears of joy because she's hearing the words she dared to hope for, and he feels rotten for denying them for so long. Who knows how close she was to leaving?

No. That won't happen. He returns the hug and promises himself that for as long as he lives, she'll never doubt it again.

Tadashi wanders into the fray some time later to voice his bemusement, but doesn't hesitate to take up Aunt Cass' silent invitation to the group hug.

-0-

At nine years old, Hiro is a bona fide genius. He skips over the last of elementary school to get a start in junior high, and he walks through a crowd of too-tall preteens cursing the system for plucking him from his safe zone to dump him _here_.

A giant spotlight is locked upon him. Everywhere he goes, he hears whispers of "that genius kid" in both awe and envy. He knows how tiny he is, how ineffective the karate moves taught to him by Tadashi would be when up against anyone taller and stronger, and for the first time in nine years, Hiro fears for his young life.

The starting point is simple and brazen. Two weeks into the school year, the scathing whispers die down and Hiro finds himself shoved against a locker. He catches sight of the culprit, a stocky boy with blonde hair and taunting eyes, before vanishing into a bathroom stall until the school administrators get Tadashi to coax him back out.

On the walk home, Tadashi is rightfully suspicious. He's worried, too. He's always been worried that his otōto's genius will isolate him, or thrust him into the spotlight in the worst way, and now there's fear in his brown eyes that those concerns are justified.

But he doesn't ask, so Hiro doesn't tell. Aunt Cass notices the shift in their mood, but her façade is cheerful as ever and Hiro finds her mood infectious.

It's a happy few hours of forgetfulness, up until he tugs off his shirt and finds the faint bruise blossoming across his scrawny arm, then reality comes crashing down. The minor wound throbs that night as he curls up in bed, keeping him away with promises of respite. It's just the beginning, he knows. Tomorrow he'll be tripped, next his books will disappear, then the rest will find strength in numbers, and bruises and blood will permanently embellish his skin—

"'Dashi?"

His nii-san sleeps like a log on the best of days. So when his reply of "Yeah?" is instant, Hiro knows he's been lying there waiting for however long it took for him to gather the courage to speak.

"Don't make me go back."

"Someone hurt you, didn't they?"

The words are physical pressure on the bruise, and Hiro clutches at the pulse of pain before he can stop himself. He curses inwardly at his slip, but doesn't resist as Tadashi crosses the room to gingerly peel back his sleeve.

"Who did this?" The reply is tense, clipped, _cold_. It's such a backward tone in Tadashi's voice, the antithesis of his usually open warmth.

Hiro shivers at the sound. "I-I don't know," he murmurs truthfully. "Not their name."

Tadashi's next movement is so fluid and swift it takes Hiro a full minute to comprehend the hug he's promptly swept into. "I'm sorry, Hiro," he says shakily. His nii-san is _crying_ and it breaks Hiro's heart. "I should've—I mean, I _knew_ this might happen, but ... I'm supposed to protect you—"

"'Dashi?" He thanks his lucky star that his voice doesn't break. Tadashi doesn't need anything else to fuel his guilt. "I love you."

Because maybe he'll get hurt tomorrow, or perhaps the incident was a one-off. But _if_ the worst comes about, then Hiro is taking this opportunity to remind Tadashi of what's important. He clings to his brother and returns the embrace wholeheartedly, soothing and kissing away Tadashi's doubts and guilt until sleep claims them both.

-0-

He's eleven years old when Tadashi graduates. There's so much pride for his nii-san that Hiro feels simultaneously smothered and fit to burst from it. He needs fresh air, a distraction, another excuse to coddle his brother because it's simply too much and there's no outlet, and—

_Breathe_.

Hiro is excited. Too excited. It's reminiscent of the time he got in on Aunt Cass' stress eating because "Fat cats aren't meant to wear rocket boots!" and a few too many cinnamon buns injected sugar and icing into his bloodstream, producing a too small, too fast bundle of energetic genius.

(Aunt Cass keeps him firmly away from the pastries today. He sees it in her eyes—the primal fear of an all-out sugar meltdown.)

Tadashi is eighteen years old, graduating high school with a scholarship lined up for San Fransokyo's Institute of Technology. And while Aunt Cass beams with happiness and pride, Hiro secretly snickers. His big brother is attending a _nerd school_ instead of stepping out into the world and unleashing awesomeness.

But he's in on the happiness, too. It's a ceremony, the end of an era, and even though it drags on so _long_ and the sun is burning the back of his neck, Hiro smiles brightly throughout the day and dives head-first into Tadashi's arms as he steps off the stage.

By this point, it's really only natural.

"I love you, 'Dashi," he sings unabashedly, and for once, he doesn't care of prying ears or ensuing "aww!"'s nearby.

-0-

He's thirteen years old with a blood trickling from a swollen lip, fresh from the underbelly of San Fransokyo where a bot-fight went wrong. A violent scuffle rippled through the crowd, where a wayward punch thwacked Hiro's face against the wall before red and blue lights dissolved the get-together like a swarm of cockroaches.

(It's not the first time Hiro experiences the benefit of being tiny and overlooked, as he slips away with quasi-invisibility.)

He jogs most of the way home, creeping up the stairs as Aunt Cass sleeps like a log two rooms away, before large hands yank him into the attic-turned-master-suite and a frantic voice demands, "_Where have you been!?_"

It takes two minutes for Tadashi to break him. A look of horror spills across his nii-san's face as Hiro indulges the dirty details—he's barely mentioned the brawl-finale by the time Tadashi's tolerance snaps.

He's become accustomed to variations of this lecture in the seven months since then, of how _bot-fighting is illegal_, _you'll get yourself arrested_, and _what were you thinking!?_ but the first experience burns deep in memory. Hiro curls up in his beanie chair with a heavy pout, half tempted to snap back and escalate their rare fight into one that wakes the neighborhood, because why the hell not?

But then Tadashi finally calms down, forces out a promise that Hiro will "never do this again" and decides he may as well be productive since he's too frazzled to sleep.

Yet again, Hiro is tempted to act on maturity, like blow a raspberry or throw the nearest object at the closing door. But a memory tucked at the back of his head nudges him, reminding him of tragedies in time's past, and he wonders what will happen if he keeps his lips sealed. If the image of his retreating brother's back as he walks with an argument in his wake, turned out to be the last memory Hiro has.

Call him superstitious, but he's not fond of taking that chance.

"Nii-chan?"

Tadashi pauses with his hand on the door knob, and glances over his shoulder. A fading blend of exhaustion and worry underline brown eyes, devoid of lingering anger. His brother can't hold a grudge if his life depended on it, and anger always melts the floodgates for fear.

He won't be rebuked or teased for speaking the additional truth; it's the final scrap of reassurance he needs.

"I ... I love you."

But then, had humiliation ensued, rendering his brother speechless made any alternate outcome worth it. Tadashi stares at him across the room, visibly intending to say something but lacking the ability to string the words together. So he clicks his jaw shut and offers a smile.

"Just please, Hiro," he eventually manages, "I'm on your side. But safe hobbies can be exciting, too."

_Of course they can_, Hiro is tempted to bite back. Only that would defeat the purpose of swallowing his pride, so he manages a smile as Tadashi leaves.

-0-

They're in disgrace. _B__oth_ of them. Tadashi glares at him from between iron bars, and Hiro smiles through nerves, hoping his own eyes projects the words that might dull Tadashi's inevitable freak out.

But it's Aunt Cass who flips out to a degree high enough for the both of them. She drags them home by their ears, two fingers a death grip on the sensitive flesh, and rants the whole drive back to the café. Once again, Hiro is well-acquainted with his good friend "guilt."

"Should I have picked up a book on parenting? _Probably!_" One hand on the door, Cass' mind draws a blank. " ... where was I going with this? I had a point."

She hesitates, mentally skimming over the hectic night when Tadashi meekly offers, "We're sorry."

And it's the perfect opportunity for Hiro to interject, "We love you, Aunt Cass." Because again, anything to reassure and uphold that truth.

"Well, _I love you, too!_"

-0-

"Oh, what would Mom and Dad say?"

"I don't know. They're gone. They died when I was three, remember?"

It's half a lie. His own parents are strangers to him, snatched away before he could memorize the basic things—facial structure, tone of voice, default personality—and long before he knows how they might react.

Maemi and Tomeo Hamada are strangers in name and memory, connected only by blood. And Hiro doesn't know if they'd scold or yell at him for the latest bot fight incident, for getting arrested, illegal gambling, or if they'd choose to sit him down and talk it through with him, because perhaps something is bothering him and he won't let them help.

No, Hiro doesn't know his parents. Nor does he miss the stricken, puppy-dog look that touches Tadashi's face at those few, brutally honest words.

But after all is said and done, once they've drilled their lecture into his head, are satisfied he's learnt his lesson, or trust he'll open up in his own time, _that_ is the part Hiro can answer.

It's when they let the anger / disappointment / understanding take a backseat, and hold him close to whisper those three words.

-0-

They're standing on the bridge over looking SFIT, and it's the night Hiro gains his first regret. Plus the second, and third, and too many more to count.

He regrets letting Tadashi slip from his grasp and run into the flames.

He regrets lingering behind where Tadashi could hear the sirens.

He regrets ever making those microbots and giving a reason for Tadashi to be near the fire.

Most of all, he regrets not telling Tadashi, for the final time, that he loves him ...

Tadashi is gone. Dead. Incinerated, mutilated. The fire was so intense it took two days to quench the chemical flames, and three days longer to identify Tadashi's charcoal remains.

It hurts to think of his nii-san that way, so Aunt Cass let's them burn him further. They cremate those salvaged chunks of charred flesh, pour them into an urn—a _child's_ urn—and bury Tadashi next to his parents.

And Hiro is drowning, limbs fatigued and lungs on the brink of bursting, pressure crushing down upon him from all angles, and he asks himself _what's left?_

Tadashi is gone. His nii-san is dead at twenty one. He promised he wouldn't leave, that's its Hiro and Tadashi from here to eternity, and nothing will ever break that vow.

He tells himself that through the motions of the hospital check-up, beyond the advanced search of the ruined exhibition hall, up to the rainy day when Tadashi is lowered into the ground and he's asked if there is anything he wants to say at his wake.

There's really only a few words to say through this haze of sheer impossibility.

"I love you, nii-san."

And the world around him slips away.

-0-

It's the third sleepless night in a row.

He's running on caffeine and determination, some would say. But Tadashi's murderer is out there, and Hiro can't sleep while that killer roams free.

Fred thinks it's Krei. The evidence is staggering to a fault, and Hiro wants his head on a pike. He could wrap his skinny arms around his neck, and clamp down hard until pale skin turns purple and flailing muscles go limp. But he knows it won't happen, because he's the hero of this story (har-de-har) and they never succumb to something so demeaning as revenge.

His life is a comic book now, and Hiro counts down the clichés. Maybe it's Krei behind the mask, or an unknown face with mysterious motivations, or perhaps Hiro hopes in his masochistic heart that he'll rip off the mask tomorrow and find Tadashi's eyes staring back.

Because maybe, just maybe, Hiro is sick of wishing for the impossible. And he's so tired of wishing he'd told his nii-san that he loved him, back before he vanished into a raging inferno, in that single moment when Hiro still had his last chance ...

So they track Yokai down to Akuma Island. They find the tapes, yet more evidence to Krei's guilt. And their teamwork is sloppy, uncoordinated, but it _works_ just enough to give Baymax the opening. He crashes into Yokai and Hiro reaches out for his waist, not his neck, because what if it _is_ Tadashi behind the mask? Hiro can't do that, not to his brother, no matter his crime, and he wants, no _needs_ the chance to speak three words while Tadashi can hear.

But then it's Professor Callaghan behind the mask, and—

—he doesn't care. It's Tadashi's _mistake_ for being so blindly compassionate; Callaghan wanted_needed_**wanted** the microbots and nothing could stand in his way. No innocent bystander, not his treasured prodigy, not Hiro's beloved nii-san—

The world becomes red. Like the flames that claimed Tadashi, Baymax's heroic armour, the combat chip that disregards everything Tadashi worked so hard for ...

Hiro rips out the healthcare chip and orders Baymax to hunt Callaghan down.

And he regrets, first and foremost, that he has no weapons to tear Callaghan apart himself.

-0-

Tadashi would be ashamed. Horrified, perhaps, to be loved by the vile spawn his otōto has become.

No, _almost_ become. Professor Callaghan is alive and out there, prepared to exact whatever brand of vengeance onto the world his unknown motives demand. And Hiro wants him gone, locked up and given the death penalty, but maybe one day he'll cry for the man. If nothing else, his pain is a factor Hiro understands.

Shame weighs down upon him when the group finds him, because he's _surprised_ to see them again. They were so angry, so upset, so _afraid_, yet beneath that it's friendship that powers through.

"Guys, I—"

The words are so hard to speak this time. He has no right, Hiro believes. Look at all he's done to them; used them, discarded them, spat in their faces ...

Yet this time, it's actions that speak louder than words. Gogo has never been a woman of many words, and it's her hug that chases away the guilt and self-loathing, replacing it with something so pure and nostalgic.

They'll catch Callaghan together, they'll do it _right_, and be the heroes they signed up to be.

Though they don't say the words Hiro yearns to hear, for once he knows it's unnecessary. Because he sees it in their eyes, their actions, so crystal clear.

He loves Tadashi, he loves his aunt, and this gang of outrageous nerds? Maybe he loves them, too.

-0-

She's alive in the portal, safe in hyper sleep as she floats in a Technicolor cloud. Abigail Callaghan is _alive_ and her father's rage was all for nothing. The former professor watches in disbelief and hope—oh, so much _hope_—as Hiro flies into the portal and brings his daughter back.

Police and paramedics swarm the scene, and the remainder of their group ushers Hiro away from Abigail's pod. She wakes up dizzy and disoriented, but as healthy as can be, and Robert Callaghan is escorted into custody with remorse weighing him down.

They saved the day, just as a hero should, but they walk away on a bittersweet trail as Big Hero Five.

-0-

Aunt Cass doesn't question him as he walks through the door, bruised and miserable, with four nerds in tow. But Hiro looks in her eyes, where through fear and pity, there's understanding. She's stumbled through unexpected motherhood for ten long years, raised two hell-raising geniuses, and been everything they need.

Of course she knows. A mother always does.

And they cry that night, like so many others before. They curl up on the couch and Hiro tells her _everything_. He details the rich tapestry that is Baymax, the replicated microbots, the Man in the Mask, near death experience number one, Big Hero Six, the truth behind the fire, Professor Callaghan, his daughter, the wretched desire to rip the disgraced professor apart—

Then Aunt Cass kisses his forehead and hugs him tight. And the words slip so truthfully from his quivering lips.

"I l-love you. A-and I'm s-so ... so _sorry_—"

"It's alright, sweetie," she murmurs into fluffy black hair. "We're Hamada's. We stick together."

It's been three months since Tadashi died, and just as long since Hiro experienced the meaning of a good night's sleep. But tonight he cries out the pain, exhaustion, the anger he locked up inside for his own sake as much as theirs, and he sleeps soundly in his aunt's embrace, with Mochi in his lap.

-0-

It's five in the morning. The early birds of San Fransokyo flourish in the heart of the city, while Hiro Hamada stands in a graveyard, for the first time of his own violation.

Minutes slip by as he stands on the hill, content to stare down at the trio of head stones where most of his family lies. It's stupid, honestly. To speak up would garner no response, and laying flowers is pointless when they'll wither before day's end. It's all sentimental and momentarily pleasing, but for once Hiro is taking his chance with this.

He trekked across the city after a restless night and stands in a place of loathing and guilt, looking for all the world like the walking dead. He's not backing out, not now. So he deeply inhales the crisp morning air, and lets the words tumble past his lips in a garbled mess.

"Hey there, Mom. Dad. T-Tadashi."

It's like a trio of pin pricks in his heart. Oh god, when was the last time he'd visited his parents? Since Tadashi's funeral, he'd never looked back. Before that, it was Tadashi himself who stopped by like clockwork to lay fresh flowers on the graves of two people he desperately missed but Hiro didn't remember.

(But Hiro _does_ remember the heartbroken look on his brother's face at age fifteen, when Hiro had whined because of the cold and that he didn't want to spend the Saturday afternoon here _again_ because he's so BORED—)

"I'm sorry."

(And he _is_ sorry he left Tadashi to make future visits alone.)

Words fail him, not for the first time. What is there to say to the salvaged remains of a family he only partially knew? He could speak for hours on end with Tadashi, about science, or social issues, or any random thought, and he wonders if he'd have shared the same with either parent.

He's a lot like Tadashi in terms of mannerisms and interests. Was Tomeo similar to Cass in that regard? Would they stress eat together in the weeks leading up to finals, drag one another away by the ear in light of something particularly frustrating, or swear each other to secrecy in guarding the family recipe of extra hot wings?

Hiro realizes then how much he really, _really_ wants to know.

"Wow," he breathes out in a rush. "There's so much I wanted to say, but how to put it into words, y'know?" He laughs so nervously, he wouldn't blame the birds for cringing. "I-I never even knew you guys."

But he can change that, to an extent. Because while he's working towards the future and letting go of past regrets, that doesn't omit learning about his past. He'll sit down with Aunt Cass when he gets home, ask to dig out the photo albums, then spend hours scouring over baby pictures and immortalized memories.

"Alright, that's not totally honest; I remember one thing about you. Well, about Mom, specifically." He sighs past the weight settling over his chest, and looks down as he scuffs his shoes. "I should've told you, 'Dashi."

And no, he's not going to cry. He can't have regrets, not now. There will always be things he'll wish he can change, but nothing good comes of dwelling on "what if."

"Like, in general, I should've been a better little brother. I knew it hurt you. You cared so much about Mom and Dad, yet there I was preaching that they didn't matter, just 'cause I couldn't remember them. That's karma for you, I guess. Believe me, I know how that one feels. But still, while we're on it, would it've killed you to _not_ run into a burning building that's rigged to explode?"

Hiro cringes under his own mental slap.

"Well, _duh_. Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking—would've been the opposite, and that's my _point_—"

Thinking back, it's not comforting. Tadashi was incinerated by the grip of fiery claws, and their parents were mutilated in a crash of scalding chemicals and falling class, each of them a self-sacrificing death and agonizing because of it. Hiro has never believed in coincidences, but he prays blind compassion isn't a Hamada trait—he's not eager to face an equally horrific demise at a premature age.

"Look, I'm gonna wrap this up before I can shove my foot in my mouth, okay? ... Mom never missed the chance to tell us how much we were loved. When I asked why, she said we should always take the opportunity to say it, because who knows if it might be our last one. And sure, I was a little misguided at first, but I decided to live by that."

He gingerly reaches out, as though the cool marble will scald his touch, and lightly places his hand on the marker.

"S-so, yeah. You shaped me into the guy I am today, Kāsan." It's such a strange word to speak, yet comforting and familiar. "And you, Dad—" He retracts his hand, and opts to stare down at it. "This one's awkward. Like, for the life in me, I can't remember anything about you. Gimme credit, though; I was only three, right? But if you were half as awesome as Aunt Cass, then I'd say you were the best as far as parents go."

A pause. The silence is deafening, and punctured by Hiro's gulp.

"Yeah, that's all I got." A nervous smile. "But hey, it's true, isn't it?"

He shouldn't have come alone. Would anyone have come with him? Scratch that—of _course_ they would have. Gogo would zip across the city at a moment's notice, Wasabi would disturb his sleep schedule to lend a comforting shoulder, Honey Lemon would nurture him with hugs and brownies until the world brightened, and Fred's number one rule was to _always_ be there for a friend in need.

But he's come this far. If he leaves, he knows he won't come back. Maybe it's his last chance, and he can't squander it.

"I wish I could remember you guys. And I wish you all weren't so selfless that nothing else mattered when someone else needed help. Especially—" He glares at the newest marker. "—when the odds were clearly against you, _knucklehead_."

Oh, yes. He'll always be mad about that one.

"And speaking of you, Tadashi ... aw, man. I guess I don't need to say it anymore, but ... " _No, I'm not going to cry_. _Not here, not now_. _Just finish this sentence, then the floodgates can open_. "I love you, nii-chan. So much. And I'm _not_ looking forward to the next eighty years without you, but I think I can do it now."

_Should have finished with that_. _Damn it, don't you dare break down now, Hamada!_

"I'm gonna cry when I get home," Hiro decides aloud. "I'll buy gummy bears, then I'll lie in bed, stuff my face with them and I'll cry. Then Aunt Cass'll cry, and hey, maybe Mochi will cry, too. 'Cause he misses you, too!" Then his smile subdues, resting easy on his lips. "But tomorrow morning, I'm signing up for classes. Just like we wanted."

_There it is_. _Out in the open_.

"I love you, 'Dashi—" Because there's never a bad time to say it. "—but I am gonna _kick your ass_ in the afterlife. What happened to 'I'll always be here for you', right? No one, but _no one_ goes back on a promise to me. Might wanna tune up those karate moves, 'cause I'm signing up for one of those classes, too. We have eighty years of practice 'til the final showdown, nii-chan. Better hope there's a sensei up there looking to teach you."

And he's smiling. Openly, unabashedly _smiling_ and it feels so good. Hiro walks away with weight off his chest, and for the first time in too long, he feels optimistic.

It's always going to be hard. Sometimes more than others, and through it he'll cry, laugh, yell, and maybe regret not avenging his brother.

But he takes a deep breath and lets the weight of it fall away.

He's joining SFIT. He'll work in Tadashi's lab, dig out his notes, and rebuild his nii-san's magnum opus. The future is bright enough that it stings, and tonight he may doubt that he wants it. But beneath it all he _does_, not for Tadashi, but for himself and he'll always remember that.

He lost his parents too young to remember, and memory erased the void in his heart. But Tadashi meant everything—his brother, his best friend, his father figure, his _world_—and nothing will fill that bleeding hole in his heart.

Aunt Cass isn't Tadashi. Nor Gogo, Honey Lemon, Wasabi, Fred. Baymax was never Tadashi, no one ever will be, and Hiro will just have to live with that.

But it's okay now. Because while Tadashi is dead, preserved forever in memory, never truly gone as long as he's remembered, no matter how much that void still hurts, one thing and one thing only is persistent.

It doesn't hurt so bad anymore.

-0-

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, didn't this get carried away with itself. XD


End file.
